Rugged and Relentless (5 page)

E
vie eyed the stranger causing so much chaos in her orderly café and tried to hide her amusement. Before her sat a tall, rangy example of why that old maxim, “The customer is always right,” hadn’t made it up on her wall.

But at least he knew when he did wrong and moved to fix it
. For that matter, the entire battle of wills led to an extra way for the café to expand its profit.
Thank You, Lord
.

“I’m a patriotic woman,” she declared, “so in the spirit of democracy, I’ll add the bounty of biscuits to what we offer.” With that, she collected baskets and orders, otherwise ignoring the man who’d instigated it all.

“Already have more in the oven,” Wilma greeted her when she reached the kitchen and headed for the baking table.

“Conversation carried all the way in here, did it?”

“Bounty of biscuits and all.” The two women shared a laugh. “Took me a moment to realize they were shaking their baskets like tambourines though. Wish I could’ve seen that.”

Evie’s chuckle went alongside those extra biscuits until she reached the stranger. Then she schooled her features into a completely blank expression as she surveyed the now-clean plate
in front of him. Well, almost clean. A few chicken bones littered the surface as he dove into his second basket of bread. “Any complaints about the chicken?” The challenge shot out before she could stop it.

“Just that I ate it so fast, if the bones didn’t stay behind, I’d swear it flew by me.” He slathered butter on a biscuit, his easy grin nowhere in sight. “I think I’ll be changing my order now.”

“The cookies are wrapped one with each sandwich,” she clarified so if he decided he didn’t want them he wouldn’t be surprised if she reached for them.

“I figured.” One bite demolished an enormous amount of food, but he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as much as before. “I’ll need another two cookies—and change my order to a double serving of cobbler.”

He didn’t look at her the way he had before the bounty-of-biscuits exchange. If Evie didn’t know better, she’d say the man outright avoided looking at her at all. Certainly the teasing tone of his conversation switched to all business.

Why? And why didn’t I realize how much I was enjoying the way he talked before, until it changed?
Evie couldn’t very well ask the man, so she set about serving him in this newly constructed silence she found so unsettling.

He ate every bite she brought him—save the sandwiches, which she’d been right in assuming he intended to take with him—without another word. And when he was done, he stood and left with a gesture she’d remember for the rest of her days.

The tall stranger strode to the door, opened it, and turned around. He stood in the frame, silhouetted by the setting sun, and when his gaze met hers, he pointed to the sign on the wall. He made a show of stepping entirely outside before placing his hat back on his head and letting the door close behind him.

Hats off to the chef
. Such a small sign of respect, an acknowledgment she’d never thought to see—and it touched her more than it had any right to. Evie was very much afraid she froze in
place and stayed that way for an indecent amount of time, staring at the door as though addlepated.

The remainder of the day blinked by, and in no time at all, she’d made it home for the night. Before dark—always before dark. For her own well-being and reputation, as well as those of the women who worked alongside her, Thompson’s Café closed earlier than some of her patrons would like. But Evie wouldn’t budge on that.
I might not be able to afford losing the business, but I can spare it more than I can spare our safety
.

Regret warred with relief when she reached the boardinghouse where she and Cora lived. Taking rooms with Mrs. Buxton had been meant as a temporary measure. Now, the place she thought of as home would most likely remain such for a long, long time.

When their father died three years before, Evie’d been forced to use her own dowry to keep the household going until she couldn’t avoid selling their home. But those proceeds wouldn’t last forever, so Evie took her one skill and turned it into her investment. After two years, the café proved itself enough to have garnered a modest savings account and flattering mortgage deal with the bank to fund Evie’s part in Hope Falls.

But the grand plan for Wilma to run things in Charleston while Evie went to Colorado vanished in a heartbeat with Braden’s death. The bright future of Cora happily married to a wealthy mine owner with Evie and their closest friends living nearby had all been fool’s gold. Which wouldn’t pay off the mortgage on her restaurant, or even keep rented rooms over their heads.

Just entering their home wrapped a cloak of concern around her thoughts. Worry pressed away the joy she’d found at work, robbing her of any ability to coax Cora back to the world outside these rooms.

It is
, she thought,
almost as though where we are becomes a part of us. At home, I mourn for Cora and the promising lives we’ve lost. In the café, I’m cheery for the customers and proud of what I accomplish
.

So what if we went to Hope Falls? How much worse would things
be for both of us, with Cora surrounded by the reminder of what she should share with Braden and me without customers to cook for?
The thought made her temples ache.

Even without Lacey’s ludicrous mention of hasty husbands, the plan spelled disaster—which was why she and Cora hadn’t so much as discussed it in the week since. They’d been right to walk away.
Here, we may not have much, but at least we know its value
. Bolstered, she swept up the stairs and into their suite—to find their rooms filled with visitors.

The small couch held Lacey and Naomi, with Cora—her pale face showing signs of strain—in the only chair. Evie would make do with the ottoman, she supposed, although—

Thud
.

With a seat now readily available, the women in the room did the only natural thing—they immediately surrounded Cora on the floor.

“She fainted!” Even Evie couldn’t explain why she bothered to remark on something so obvious, aside from the surprise of it. She chafed her sister’s cold hands in her own warm ones as Naomi smoothed back Cora’s hair and loosened her collar. “She’s only ever fainted once before, when—”

Lacey caught Evie’s look and nodded, her eyes solemn. “When I told her of Braden’s death.”

“What did you tell her this time?” No matter she counted Lacey Lyman as one of her closest friends, Evie battled an urge to shake the girl for whatever shock she’d foisted upon Cora.

“Evie?” Cora’s voice sounded weak, but her grip would most likely leave bruises on Evie’s arms as she struggled to sit up—no mean feat for a woman lying prostrate on the floor in a corset. Little wonder she seemed breathless. “You don’t understand.”

“Ssshhh, dear. Rest a moment.”

“No!” Cora gave a sudden lurch, eyes glittering with a fierce light. “Don’t you see? Braden’s alive!”

Seems I’m not the only Thompson sister with a secret penchant for
melodrama
. Evie shook her head.

“No, Cora—you fainted. Things will clear up in a moment.” She motioned to Naomi. “We’ll get you a drink of water.” As she spoke, she maneuvered her sister onto the sofa and propped her against one of the arms, where she’d be less likely to fall.

“Lacey!” Cora all but shoved Evie away in a bid for the other woman’s attention. “Tell her!”

“She’s right.” Naomi’s voice whispered in her ear, her closest friend putting a hand on her shoulder as though to brace her for news that would turn their world upside down yet again. “Perhaps you’d best sit down.”

Call her silly, but one glance at Cora’s wild-eyed expression made Evie reluctant to hear them out. She shrugged away Naomi’s hand, using the scant moment it took to reach the ottoman and pull it toward the tea table to seek peace.

Lord, my prayers for Your provision never specified what path You’d choose—it wasn’t my place. More than that, it seemed we’d learned that lesson the hard way when all our carefully laid plans for Hope Falls fell apart. But now it’s plain to see my sister and I will be swept into something unbelievable. Grant me the faith and strength to see it through and the heart to do so with good humor!

She situated herself on the ottoman, pulled one of Cora’s hands into hers, and declared, “All right. Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know nuthin’.” The man shook his head hard enough to bruise his brains. If, that was, someone assumed the down-on-his-luck gambler possessed any in the first place.

Jake didn’t assume. Resisting the impulse to get better acquainted with the delectable cook had left him too surly to bother.
The time is long past for me to find Twyler and finish this so I can get back to the things that make life worth living
. “Yes, you do.” Jake intentionally widened his stance, an unspoken threat. “Not much, but you know something about Twyler. Spill it.”

The barkeep at the saloon where those poker games had been held couldn’t tell him much that afternoon, but he’d pointed the way toward the entrenched gamblers who might remember more. From there, persistent questioning and more rounds of whiskey than Jake bothered to count pointed him to this sad excuse for a man.

“Nuh-ugh.” A nervous swallow. “He was a mean cuss, but that’s all I know. Bad news, but old news, if you catch my meaning.”

Seemed Twyler’d been smart enough to cover his tracks, this time. But intimidation wore off in time—and for once, the lag between Jake and his prey might pay off.

“You shared a room with him—where’d he say he was headed?” He casually pulled back the flap of his duster, revealing the holster sitting on his hip. If intimidation worked, he’d beat Twyler at his own game.
I have to
.

“Dunno.” A shifty glance from Jake’s gun to the street behind him, where no one wandered after dark. No one to interfere. The grizzled gambler started to wheeze.

If the man were younger, in better health, or boasted more fight and less fear, Jake’s conscience wouldn’t set up a fracas.
But at this rate, I’ll be no better than the murderer
.

“Sorry to waste your time.” Jake shifted so his coat closed then took a step back to give him more room to breathe. He eyed the man, unable to give up altogether but unwilling to bully the old fellow.
Wonder if cold, hard cash would wipe away the memory of Twyler’s threats
. He’d just decided to give it a try when the other man spoke up.

“Durango.” Seemed he’d gotten some of his courage back along with his breath. “Dunno where it is, don’t care, and don’t want to see either one of you again.” With that, he pushed back into the saloon, ignoring Jake’s muttered “Thanks” with all the dignity of a dethroned king.

For his part, Jake wasted no time heading back to the train station, where he’d leave on the first ride heading toward Colorado.
He settled onto a bench, a man with a ham sandwich—and a purpose.

Twyler was a dead man walking.

“He’s alive.” Lacey verified Cora’s outlandish claim in a single breath. “Braden and two others were pulled from the mines. My brother—” Here, her voice broke. “Is a survivor.”

So why aren’t you smiling, Lacey?
A frisson of foreboding tingled up Evie’s spine.
Why isn’t Cora leaping for joy? What am I missing?
She looked to Naomi to fill in the gap.

“Along with this happy news, we’ve received a few other, less joyous revelations today.” Naomi seemed to be searching for words. The thoughtful, tactful nature Evie’d always admired chafed today while she waited. “Mr. Lyman’s lost the use of his left leg—perhaps permanently. He’s also suffered head and back injuries and a broken wrist and can’t be moved.”

“But he’s alive?” Evie remained flabbergasted by the lack of celebration. “Everything else is secondary! This is wonderful!” She turned to her sister. “You still have—”

“He sent word he’s dissolving the engagement.” Cora’s voice had gone strangely monotone and hollow, as though traveling over a great distance. “After his experience, he’s reevaluated our situation and decided this is”—she consulted a piece of paper Evie hadn’t noticed she crumpled in her hand—“best for all.”